


Look Like a Lush, Talk Like a Tease

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Gym Class Heroes, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Sexual Content, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travie is curious about the new kid on the opposite corner</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Like a Lush, Talk Like a Tease

The kid across the street is wearing black leggings that reach mid-calf, cuff-off denim shorts, a white t-shirt thin enough that Travie can see through it from where he’s standing on his corner, and a black vest and a fucking pocket watch. He looks like he’s twelve, fifteen on a good day. He’s going to make a hell of a lot of money.

It would normally piss Travie off to have competition on the same stretch - _his_ stretch – but he’s definitely not going to draw the same crowd. The kid’s got businessmen in serious denial. His long hair allowing them to pretend he’s a girl when they look down to where he’s blowing them, denying all they want that they _want_ it to be a boy. The leches start when it gets darker, old men with octopus hands and sugar daddy smiles. 

When he’s not working his own business, Travie watches him go back into the alley and come out with mussed hair and swollen lips. It makes him look even more like a kid, maybe even more like a girl.

Traffic thins out around two in the morning, so Travie walks across the street. The kid leans against the brick wall behind him, watching Travie cautiously. Travie looks him over, with no fucking clue where the kid’s keeping his cash. “Travie.”

“Bill.”

“Nah. You’re too pretty for Bill. Out here you should be William. Softer. Sweeter.” He leans on the wall next to him, not looking at him. “You’re new.”

“So?”

“So nothing.” Travie looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “There’s a diner three blocks over. Coffee’s disgusting, but the pancakes are good. And cheap.”

“No thanks.” Travie shrugs and smiles. He remembers existing on bullshit and balls for the first year he was on the streets. Bill crosses his arms over his chest and then uncrosses them, shoving his hands in his pocket at Travie’s look. “What?”

“Nothing, kid.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re working my street. But I’m thinking we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement. The guys in the market for you aren’t going to look twice at me. So I think we can exist side by side peacefully.” He looks Bill up and down far more critically. “I’m assuming you’re freelance.”

“You can assume whatever you want.”

“You’re a smart-ass little shit, aren’t you?”

His chin goes up a little and he glares at Travie. Travie’s pretty sure it’s not all bravado. The kid can probably fight dirty. “No one asked you to come over here.”

“You’re right. No one did.” He takes a dollar bill out of his pocket and stuffs it in the pocket of Bill’s vest. “First coffee’s on me, kid.”

“That’s not my name.”

“No, but looking like that, I don’t know what else you expect me to call you.”

**

He’s back the next night, his outfit essentially the same, though he’s lost the leggings. It’s a bad idea, because the alley is hell on your knees, but there’s probably some cardboard back there that’s better cushioning than a thin stretch of fabric. Travie walks past him and gives him a quick once-over. The vest is gray this time, and the shorts are impossibly tighter. The outline of the kid’s dick is like a flashing neon sign. It’s almost a pity, because a pretty boy like him isn’t going to get picked up because someone wants to get fucked.

Travie nods at William and jogs across the street against traffic, flipping off someone in a black sedan who honks at him. The sedan pulls over and one of his regulars leans across the front seat. Travie slides in and waves a hand out the window at the kid and grins when Bill jerks his gaze the other direction, deliberately not looking at Travie. Already it’s turning out to be a great day.

**

Bill’s not there when Travie gets back, a good 150 bucks richer. Some regulars are worth doing a little bit extra. He goes in and out of the alley himself, hand jobs and blow jobs and fucking one guy up against a wall, and Bill’s never back on the street. He feels stupid for worrying. Hell, for all he knows the kid got sick of Travie flipping him shit and moved on. He doesn’t really believe that though. Something tells him that Bill doesn’t give up. 

He finally shows up near midnight and he looks like he’s been rode hard. His hair is wet, so he got a shower – at least Travie hopes that’s why his hair is wet – but it’s cold and he’s shivering hard enough that Travie can see it from across the street. “Hey, kid.”

Bill ignores him, not that Travie expected otherwise. This is the last stretch of customers, and right now Bill looks like a bedraggled kitten. He spends the next two hours practically living in the alley, and Travie barely sees him between their combined clients. 

At three Travie calls it a night and walks across the street. Bill’s been leaning on the wall for the past fifteen minutes, and he looks like he’s about to drop. Travie takes off his jacket and holds it in one hand, taking Bill’s wrist in his other and tugging him off the wall. He starts to say something when Travie slips the jacket around his shoulders. “You’re fucking freezing, kid.”

“I’m fine.” The words are obviously a lie as he says them through chattering teeth.

“It’s a wonder if anyone let you suck them off like that. Think they’d be afraid you’d bite their dick off.” He smirks as William fights a smile. “Come on. Coffee and pancakes. Hell, just sitting in the diner will warm you up.”

Travie’s pretty sure he’s going to say no when he finally shrugs. “Yeah. Okay.” He slides his arms into Travie’s jacket and wraps it tighter around him. His legs are a rash of goosebumps and his fingers are pale with cold. 

“Shit, baby boy. You need different clothes. Nobody wants to fuck a popsicle.”

Bill snorts a laugh. “Are you kidding? You know how many times I heard ‘I’m gonna warm you up, boy’ tonight? It was a major selling point.”

“It won’t be when you die of hypothermia.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Then give me back my jacket.” 

Bill frowns at him and shakes his head, looking Travie over to see if he’s joking. “No.”

“Thought not.” He jogs a few steps ahead and opens the door to the diner. A blast of warm air hits him and he can see the second it hits Bill by the way he gives a full body shiver that looks like it hurts. “Booth at the back.” 

He follows Travie to the table and slides onto one of the benches. Travie can’t tell if he’s in pain or about to have an orgasm just from the warm air blowing against them from the vent under the table. He shivers again and wraps his arms around himself.

“Told you you were cold. Go wash up, but use cold water at first so you don’t burn yourself.”

“Are you my mother?”

“No.” Travie looks at him seriously. “But I’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you, and so maybe you should trust me. We’re not competition, so I’ve got nothing to lose by helping you. So go wash up and use cold water and quit bitchin’ at me.”

Bill sticks out his tongue and gets out of the booth, making his way to the bathroom. He looks even younger when he does that, and Travie wonders what the fuck his story is. Except he doesn’t, because anything that ends up with a kid on the streets doesn’t have a happy ending. He takes long enough in the bathroom that Travie thinks he might have bolted out the back door, and Travie’s out a jacket, but eventually he comes out. He looks warmer and more relaxed in his bones. It’s a good look for him.

“I ordered pancakes. Didn’t know if you were a coffee person.”

“Tea if I can get it.”

“Not sure you’ll have much selection here, but I’m pretty sure they’ve got something. I asked for warmed maple syrup too. Figure if they nuke it, it’ll kill any bacteria, you know?” 

The waitress comes over a few minutes later with plates piled high with pancakes as well as the coffee pot and syrup container. William orders a tea, ignoring the look of suspicion he gets, and then starts eating, wolfing down the food like it’s the first he’s had in ages. 

“Yo, kid. Slow down before you make yourself sick.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He sits back and licks syrup off his lips. It’s distracting. The kid’s mouth is still swollen and now it’s wet with syrup and spit and the hell of it is that Bill is 100 percent Travie’s type. “It’s good. Really good.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then sucks the syrup off his skin. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“I guessed. When was the last time you ate?”

“Last night.” He picks up his tea and sips it, carefully avoiding Travie’s eyes. “I had some Pop-Tarts before I went out.”

“Pop-Tarts.”

He nods. “Strawberry.”

“Kid...”

“No.” He sets his cup down and shakes his head. “I’m not your friend, and I’m not your responsibility. I’m not your charity case. I’m not out here looking for someone to take care of me.”

“Why are you out here?”

Bill stands up and shrugs out of Travie’s jacket, laying several bills on the table. “That’s none of your business.”

Travie picks up the money as the kid walks out, counting it absentmindedly, surprised that it’s exactly half the bill plus a 20 percent tip. He’s pretty sure this kid is full of surprises.

**

Bill studiously avoids Travie for the next two weeks, which is only slightly annoying. The weather’s warming, so more people are coming out. Warmer weather means your dick doesn’t freeze in the alley. It also means that Bill’s down to a tank top underneath his vest. It should look ridiculous – it _does_ look ridiculous, but he manages to pull it off and pull in the guys. Travie’s just coming out of the alley when he sees William climb into a car with a couple, and then a few nights later he’s in a car with what looks like a bachelorette party. 

After that, Travie’s got no choice but to talk to him.

“How many girls was that?”

“Hmm?” Bill looks a little dazed when he blinks at Travie. “Oh. Seven.”

“ _Seven_. You must taste like a whorehouse.”

“I’m not sure what I taste like. Or smell like.” He licks his lips and wrinkles his nose. “Seven’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah. And I can’t figure out why they went for the twink.” He glances down at Bill’s tight shorts. “Or, well, I guess I can.” He laughs. “You ever need a...hand with that again, you let me know. Girls are much less...set on type.”

“You do girls too?”

“I do whatever pays the bills.” He tugs his long hair back into a ponytail with both hands and then lets it fall around his shoulders. “Speaking of which. You got a place to live?”

“What?”

Even the kid’s damn eyelashes are glistening. “You got a place to live? Or you just moving from bolthole to bolthole?”

“I don’t see how...”

“I could use help with rent. Landlord’s jacking it up again. It’s a piece of shit hole in the wall, but it’s warm and it’s dry and it’s got a shower and a mini-fridge and a hotplate. The water and electricity even work most of the time.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

“I don’t remember asking you to. Let me see. Rent. Description of the place. Positive selling points. Yeah, no. No mention of fucking.”

“It was implied.”

“Baby boy, I fuck for a living. People pay for the priveledge, so I ain’t about to fuck someone who isn’t interested. And you’ve been loud and clear that you don’t even fucking like me, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like you.”

“Forget it.”

“No. No. Don’t. I mean...How much is the rent?” Travie tells him, and his eyes widen. “ _Each_?”

“No. That’s what we’d split. Plus utilities and shit.” He watches Bill think it over. “There are rules though. Nobody goes home with you there. You ever take a john there, I will shred your skinny ass. And I sleep part of the time during the day. We can take shifts or whatever if you’re an insomniac. Deal?”

“Is there a laundromat nearby?”

“Down the block.”

“How do you feel about Pop-Tarts?”

“Strawberry? Can’t stand ‘em. And we can share food costs or buy our own and keep it all separate.”

Bill sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

“You can stay the rest of this month free if you want, but after that, you’re paying your way.”

Bill’s face immediately shuts down, and his voice is sharp.“I don’t need hand-outs.”

“It’s not a hand-out. It’s a good faith agreement. I’m done at three. I’ll show you the way.”

**

Travie kicks the radiator and it makes a nasty sound at him, but the heat starts. Bill’s looking around, inspecting the canvases Travie’s got up on the walls. “Did you do these?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re really good.” He starts to touch one then pulls his hand back. “Really good.”

“Thanks. You have something else you want to put up on the walls, just let me know. I can take some down or move them or whatever.”

“No. I don’t have much.” He sets his backpack on the ground between his feet. They’d detoured to the bus station to get it out of a locker before heading to the apartment. “Is there a drawer or something? A shelf? Just to put my clothes?”

Travie nods toward a small closet on the other side of the bed. “There should be some space in there. Feel free to move stuff if you need to.” He takes off his shoes and sinks down onto the mattress on the floor, stretching his legs out and rounding his back until he hears it pop. Bill sticks his head out of the closet and looks at him then ducks back inside. He can hear stuff getting moved around, but he’s too tired to worry about it. “How do you want to do this?”

“Do what?” 

He pops back out like a meerkat and Travie smiles at the thought. “Sleep.”

“Oh. Um.” He frowns and looks around. “I can take a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the floor for tonight and we can worry about it in the morning?”

“Sounds fair.” He takes a pillow and tosses it at Bill. “Blankets are in the closet too. Might want a couple, since the floor is cold as fuck.”

“You know, I am a guest...”

Travie laughs. “No, man. You volunteered. Sucks to be you.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“I gave you the good pillow.”

Bill rolls his eyes and tosses the pillow on the floor, disappearing into the closet again. He comes out with two towels and two blankets and proceeds to make a pile of linen on the floor. It’s laid out perfectly, the towels adjusted for his height. He grabs the pillow and puts it at the head of the makeshift bed with a flourish. 

Travie applauds. “Very nice.”

He smiles, and Travie’s stomach clenches with heat. Shit. His smile is _lethal_. “Thanks. I made it myself.”

“Of course, now I don’t know what you’re going to use when you shower. The towel supply is now exhausted.”

“I have a towel.” He grabs his bag and digs through it. He pulls out a book and a notebook and two boxes of Pop-Tarts before he hits fabric. Travie recognizes the t-shirts and the leggings. There’s a pair of green denim shorts he hasn’t seen before and finally a towel. It’s threadbare and whatever color it used to be, it’s definitely not anymore. “Can I shower now?”

Travie nods. “It’s all yours. I’ll shower in the morning. Hopefully the heat’ll be built up again by then.”

“Thanks.” He gives Travie another smile and then ducks into the bathroom. There’s barely enough room to be in there, much less undress, so Travie’s actually pretty impressed when he hears what has to be Bill stepping under the water. He groans, so Travie knows the water’s at least warm. The heat in Travie’s gut has slipped lower with the sound, and he gets up and goes in the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

Bill yelps and Travie snaps the tap off fast. “Sorry!” He forgoes the water and digs a beer out of the back of the fridge. There’s a thin layer of ice on the top of the can that he breaks with his fingernail then cracks the can open. He slugs at least half of it down before he stops, leaning back against the wall and exhaling roughly. 

He finishes the beer after he hears the shower shut off, giving Bill plenty of time to get dried, dressed and in bed. He crushes the can against the bottom of the sink and then tosses it away. He snaps off the kitchen light and makes his way through the archway to the bedroom. The hanging lamp is on over the bed, and Bill’s on his stomach, wet hair wrapped in his towel, scribbling in his notebook. He looks ridiculous, which makes the slow boil of heat in Travie’s stomach flaring to life embarrassing. 

“Sorry about the water. Forgot.”

“It’s okay. Scorch marks are totally in fashion these days.” He tilts his head and smiles up at Travie, the towel falling off. Long, wet bangs drop down over his eyes and he pushes them back with one hand. “Have I said thank you?”

“For what?”

“This. Letting me stay here. I know it was probably a bullshit excuse, but...thank you.” He ducks his head and goes back to whatever he’s writing. Travie watches him for a moment before he grabs a pair of sweats and disappears in the bathroom. He has got to be out of his fucking mind.

**

Bill’s gone when Travie wakes up. His bed is folded neatly and stacked just inside the closet. His backpack is there as well, but it’s at least half empty. He thinks about looking through it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the kid had it booby-trapped. Instead he stands up and stretches, kicking off his sweats and heading for the bathroom to shower. 

He finishes up and wraps the towel around his hips, calling out Bill’s name just to make sure he’s alone. He dries off and goes out to get clothes, changing back into the sweats and throwing on a t-shirt. He reaches for his sketch pad and leans back against the wall. There are things he should be doing, but Bill doesn’t have a key, and he’d feel like shit locking him out. He digs his ipod out from between the mattresses and starts it. He sings along, one earbud in and one dangling down the middle of his chest. 

He gets so caught up in what he’s doing he doesn’t realize Bill’s in the doorway until he shifts and sets down a bag. “Oh. Hey, dude.”

“Hey. I brought you coffee.” He’s holding a cup from the coffee shop down the street and it’s still steaming.

“Gimme.” He kneels on the edge of the mattress and reaches for the cup. Bill hands it over and then sits on the foot of the bed. “Where’d you get off to? And remind me to get you a key.”

“I got a couple of things. A blow up mattress. Some towels. Food.”

“Pop-Tarts?”

“Bread. Peanut butter. Macaroni and cheese. Ramen. Chocolate chips.”

“You know we can’t make cookies on a hot plate, right?”

“I just eat them.” 

“Cool.” He sips his coffee and closes his eyes. “We’ll have to rearrange in here to fit a blow up mattress. Shouldn’t be too hard. Might be stepping over each other a bit, but we’d be doing that no matter what.”

“You want to do that now?”

“Why? You got somewhere to be?”

“I was going to do laundry. It’s...it’s been a while.”

“Tell you what, let me gather up my shit and I’ll go with you. In the drawer in the kitchen, behind the silverware. There’s a deck of cards. Grab that and we’ll pass the time with me beating your ass.”

“In your dreams.” Travie waggles his eyebrows and Bill laughs. “Didn’t take you for a kinky guy.”

“Says the man who spent the evening with a bachelorette party.”

“That wasn’t kinky! It was just...an abundance of riches.”

“I’ll bet,” Travie snorts. Bill sticks his tongue out at Travie and Travie’s hand snaps out, grabbing it. Bill’s eyes widen with surprise and Travie laughs, letting him go. “Fastest draw in the west.”

“Given what you do for a living, that’s not exactly the best advertisement.”

“Grab the cards. You got quarters?”

“No, but I’ve got dollar bills.”

“Good enough.”

**

They fall into a routine that involves switching off beds and, one day when the heat goes out and it’s about 10 below outside, sharing a bed and every blanket they possess between them. The streets had been bare, so they’d closed shop before they were frozen solid. Bill falls asleep almost instantly, probably on the edge of hypothermia, but it takes Travie a while. He doesn’t mean to watch him as the warmth finally seeps into his bones, but Bills’ rhythmic breathing is hypnotic. He tries to lie to himself and say that he’s just making sure he’s not going to die of exposure, but he’s always sucked at lying to himself.

“Baby boy, you are danger wrapped up in tight shorts.” He sighs and closes his eyes, wrapping an arm around William’s waist and tugging him close. Bill’s legs are still like ice, and he presses closer to Travie’s warmth. “Shit.”

Bill’s awake before Travie the next morning, though not by much, since Travie wakes up to the sound of a wrench banging against the metal of the radiator. It spits and hisses angrily and then goes silent again. Bill’s wearing three blankets wrapped around him and he drops the wrench and sits on the air mattress, picking up a cup of tea. “There’s five inches of snow outside.”

“Night off.” He closes his eyes again, even though he knows he won’t go back to sleep. “What do you write in that notebook of yours?” It’s easier to ask the question when he can’t see Bill’s face. He’s not sure he wants to see Bill’s reaction. 

“Lots of things. Ideas. Stories. Journal entries.” He pauses to sip his tea, and Travie can smell cinnamon and honey. “I didn’t always want to work the streets.”

Travie cracks one eye open to see Bill’s grin. “No? It was my childhood dream.” It’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to talking about why they’re here. “I think I still have my third grade essay about it.”

“I wanted to be the lead singer of a rock band. Or an English teacher.”

“One by day, one by night.” Travie stretches then pulls his hands under the covers again. “Shit, son. It is cold.”

Bill raises an eyebrow and, thankfully, doesn’t comment. The eyebrow actually says enough. “What about you?”

“Artist.”

“Doesn’t count. You _are_ an artist.”

“Nah, man. I wanted to be an artist like Keith Haring, Warhol, Basquiat. I wanted people to know my name. I wanted people to see my shit and awe at it.”

“I awe at your shit.” Bill scrunches his face. “That sounds weird.”

“It does. I always flush the toilet.” He crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out. Bill laughs and sets his tea down, lying on the mattress, still looking at Travie. 

“Seriously though. You’re really talented. You see things. Beauty in everyday things, but you make them more beautiful. You give them life.”

He starts to say something self-deprecating, but something in Bill’s face stops him. “Thanks.” He averts his gaze and stares at the mold crawling across the ceiling. “Can I read some of what you’ve written?”

“Maybe.” 

It’s more than Travie actually expects. “Yeah?” He turns his head and sees Bill shrug. 

“Yeah. Let me think about it.”

Travie nods. “I could scramble some eggs if they’re still good.”

“I bought some cheese last time I was at the store.”

“Fuck yeah, baby boy. We’re having omelets.”

**

Bill leaves his journal on Travie’s bed one morning. Travie’s been out to breakfast with a friend, and Bill’s not home when he gets there, but the hardbound book is sitting on the blanket. He waits for a few minutes, looking through the past few days of junk mail before he picks it up. It’s not heavy, but it feels like a substantial weight in his hands.

He leafs through it at first, familiarizing himself with Bill’s handwriting. It’s slanted and spiky, the words looking welcoming and dangerous all at once. Most of it reads like a story, though there are pages filled with what looks like lyrics, and what are probably some sort of journal entries barely taking up half pages here and there, separated by dark and sharp lines. It’s obviously not the only notebook Bill has, because it starts in the middle of something, maybe further than the middle. It seems like it’s winding to a conclusion, but Travie can’t figure out what that might be at all.

He sets the journal back on the air bed and goes over to the window. There’s still slushy snow on the slanted walkway that leads down to their door, and he can see the feet of people as they stomp through in boots and worn tennis shoes. 

Bill comes home a few hours later, hurrying into the bedroom. He stops when he sees the journal, as if he’d forgotten he’d left it out for Travie. He raises his eyes and then goes to the closet, tugging out his work clothes. They’ve reached the point where they don’t bother ducking into the bathroom to change, so Travie averts his eyes, shrugging off his sweats and tugging on a pair of black jeans. 

“You have got to get a warmer outfit,” Travie says as he pulls on a too-tight t-shirt. He’s already given Bill one of his fake leather jackets to wear, but he knows it doesn’t do much to beat back the cold that puckers Bill’s skin with goosebumps and makes him shiver uncontrollably when they finally get somewhere warm. 

“That’s not what they want.”

“You could pull off jeans and a t-shirt. The jacket makes you look younger. And your skin wouldn’t turn blue.”

“Blue’s a good color for me.”

Travie rolls his eyes and tugs on his own jacket. “You freeze to death and I’m taking your earnings.” It’s a ridiculous threat, because Travie _still_ hasn’t figured out where Bill keeps his cash.

“You can try. I don’t care if I’m dead, no one touches me without my consent.” He looks fierce, and Travie has to wonder again what brought him to the streets. 

“Zombie hooker. I dig it.” Travie laughs and turns his collar up. “You coming now?”

“In a minute.”

He nods and leaves the apartment. They rarely walk out together and never end up on their corners at the same time. As much as there’s safety in numbers, most of the men don’t want to be seen by anyone but the guy sucking his cock. Half the time not even by them. 

He gets someone right away, a blow job for the guy and a handjob for Travie. The guy looks horrified when he ends up with come on his hands. His eyes are wild when he throws the more money on the ground and beats it out of the alley. First timers are pretty much the worst. Travie knows the guy’ll be back, but he’s not actually looking forward to it.

Bill’s not on the corner when he gets back. Now that the snow has melted some people are prowling, looking to get lucky. Travie makes serious bank before midnight, and it’s not until then and things slow down that he realizes he hasn’t seen Bill all night. 

He watches for another hour, waiting for him, but there’s no sign of him by one. There’s a decent chance that he got picked up for the night, and the past week of not being able to be out would totally make the lure of that kind of money tempting as fuck. Still, something doesn’t sit right in Travie’s gut, so he crosses the street. 

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting other than the view of where he usually stands. Something feels off though, so he kicks the brick with the toe of his sneaker and heads into the alley, hoping that he’s not going to run into something he’s not supposed to see.

He does, but not like he worried. He stumbles over Bill in the dark and ends up on his knees on the other side of him. He turns, ignoring the gravel digging into his kneecaps and looks down. He can’t see much in the dark, but he doesn’t need to see to press his hand to Bill’s chest to see if he’s breathing. It’s slow and shallow. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” 

He picks Bill up and holds him close. Between the fact that he’s long and thin and the fact that Travie’s pumped full of fear and adrenaline, it seems like his journal weighed more than he does. It’s still awkward to carry him, and the four blocks to their apartment seem to stretch forever. He has to stand Bill up to get the key from its hiding place and unlock the door, and even supporting him, Bill almost slides to the ground. 

Travie bends down and lets Bill fall over his shoulder, carrying him in a fireman’s hold into the apartment. He locks the door behind him and slaps on the lights as he makes their way to the bedroom. He’s careful laying Bill out on the bed and he finally allows himself the chance to look him over.

There’s blood on Bill’s forehead and his cheek and nose are scraped raw. It looks as if he’d been shoved against the building and turned his face at the last minute to keep from ending up with a broken nose. His jacket’s gone and his shirt’s already ripped, so Travie carefully finishes it off, tearing it in half so he can see. His skin is puffy in places, a pale blue that sends a riot of panic coursing through Travie’s chest. There are boot marks on his shirt, so Travie knows when Bill’s got blood flowing through his system again he’s going to have dark, painful bruises. “Fuck.”

His shorts and leggings are still on, covered in gravel and soaked with slush. His calves are scraped as raw as his face and there are boot marks there as well. Travie undoes his shorts and tugs them and the leggings off, wrapping one of the blankets around Bill’s legs. He grabs another blanket and lays it over Bill’s chest before he looks at his arms. His wrist is broken, bent back at an unnatural angle. Travie hisses and takes it carefully in his hands, closing his eyes as he pulls it back into place.

Bill makes a noise, though it doesn’t get past his throat. It’s the first sound he’s made, and Travie is grateful for it. He tucks Bill’s arms under the blanket and goes to the bathroom, waiting for the water to run warm before he soaks a towel with it. He wrings out the excess then lifts the blanket, covering Bill with the towel. 

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, baby boy.” He replaces the blanket over the towel and moves down to the foot of the bed, pushing the other blanket off of one leg and wrapping his hands around the ankle. He rubs slow, small circles with his thumbs, massaging the cold skin. He works his way up to Bill’s knee before recovering that leg and moving to the other. He keeps talking, nonsense words and threats to Bill’s well-being if he doesn’t recover from this. He doesn’t get any response other than the slow warming of Bill’s skin, which is actually enough for Travie right now.

He keeps it up, massaging heat into Bill’s limbs in between reheating the towel and covering him with it. His hands are just above mid-thigh when Bill’s voice, weak and soft, surprises him. “Y-you go an-any higher, I ha-have to ch-charge you.” His teeth are chattering and a huge shudder goes through him. 

“I’ll pay if you can get it up.”

“I can’t even _feel_ my dick.” He laughs, though there’s barely any sound to it. “My he-head hurts.”

“Yeah, I bet it does. If you promise not to stop breathing, I’ll make some tea and get you some aspirin.”

“Promise.” The corner of Bill’s mouth quirks and he closes his eyes again. Travie hurries to the kitchen and fills the kettle Bill bought at the thrift store and puts it on the hot plate. He digs in his stash and finds some Oxycodone, pouring two pills into his palm while he waits for the kettle to whistle. 

He digs through the box of tea until he finds the one he know Bill likes best at night – his cinnamon and honey blend – and pours hot water over the bag. He carries the mug in one hand and the pills in the over, coming back to sit on the edge of the bed. He sets the cup down on the floor and reaches behind Bill’s neck to help lift him into a sitting position. That earns him another groan.

“Easy. Just get these down.” He feeds Bill the pills and then reaches for the mug, holding it while he swallows. It takes a few sips to manage to get them down, and Travie supports him the entire time. “You feel up to getting in the shower?”

“D-do I have t-to stand?”

“It usually makes it easier. Besides, I don’t know that you’d want your ass on that floor.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay, well, I need you to be warm, so I’ll help you out.”

“Costs extra.”

“I’ll pay you later.” He sets the tea down. It’s probably too hot to actually drink anyway. He eases the blankets off of Bill then helps him to his feet. There’s still gravel and blood on him, and Travie’s careful as he helps him into the bathroom. He sits Bill on the toilet as he turns on the water and gets the towels ready before stripping out of his clothes. He gets Bill standing again. “Remember, baby boy, I charge too, so don’t get handsy.”

William hisses as the water hits him, trying to get away from the spray and pressing closer to Travie. “Hurts. Fuck. It hurts.”

“Yeah, you’re getting feeling back. That’s a good thing.”

“Fuck you.”

“You can’t afford me.” Travie turns him so he’s facing the side of the shower. “Brace yourself.”

“Why?” He shudders again but does what Travie says and the warm water pinks his skin. 

“Trust me.” He takes a washcloth and carefully starts washing gravel and blood off William’s skin. The cold stopped most of the bleeding, and when he brushes the clots away, it trickles down his skin, eventually fading in the water spray. Bill closes his eyes and rests his head on the wall of the shower. Pain creases his face, but he doesn’t complain as Travie uses the washcloth to clean him and warm him up. 

Travie takes extra care with him, using just the tip of the cloth to ease free the rocks embedded in his skin. When he finally finishes, the water’s starting to turn cool and the Oxy has taken effect. He eases Bill against him and walks them out of the stall, holding him close as he dries him off. Bill’s wet hair leaves streaks on Travie’s damp shoulder until Travie ruffles it dry with the towel. It’s still wet, so he wraps it up in a dry towel. 

“Come on.” He guides Bill back into the bedroom and gets him dressed in the warmest clothes he can find. He pulls an extra pair of sweats and a sweatshirt out of the back of the closet and works two pairs of socks on Bill’s feet before easing him under the covers of the air mattress. His eyes are closed before Travie’s got him tucked in. 

Travie shivers, naked and wet and cold, so he hurries into the bathroom and dries off, dragging on another pair of sweats and a t-shirt before he strips his bed of the wet blankets and sits on it, watching Bill breathe. The Oxy will hopefully hold the pain and the feeling off until morning, but he goes to get another couple of pills just in case. He leans against the wall and gets comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.

**

He doesn’t intend to sleep, but he’s jolted awake by soft mewling sounds. He knows wihtout thinking that it’s Bill and he sinks down on the floor next to the airbed and strokes the towel off his head. “Hey. Hey. I’m right here.”

Bill doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are wide and bright with pain and tears. Travie realizes belatedly that he didn’t do anything about Bill’s wrist and curses under his breath. “Shit. I forgot with everything else. Hold on.” He digs around in one of the kitchen drawers until he finds some masking tape and grabs two of his paintbrushes and a washcloth, rigging up a makeshift splint. He gets some more Oxy down Bill’s throat and pets him until it kicks in again. The sun’s coming up, slanting rays through the window.

He knows he should get Bill to hospital. He knows he should have done it hours ago, but there’s no way he can walk in with a beat up, skinny white boy and not have the cops called on him. He tugs his hair back in a ponytail and grabs a jacket, ducking out of the apartment. There’s not a lot of people on the streets this early, and the drug store is nearly deserted. He picks up a brace for Bill’s wrist as well as large gauze bandages and hydrogen peroxide. He also shoves a handful of chocolate bars and a bottle of whiskey in the basket to cover all his bases. 

The clerk doesn’t blink an eye, though she does make him wait an extra five minutes until it’s actually legal to sell hard alcohol. He jogs home, listening when he comes in the door. It’s still quiet, so he goes into the bedroom and stretches out on his bed, watching Bill sleep. He doesn’t doze off again, and he’s looking right at Bill when he opens his eyes.

“Feel...” His voice is groggy. “Feel like got hit b-by a truck.”

“Not quite. You feel up to some tea?”

He frowns and tries to sit up, putting his weight on his broken wrist before Travie can stop him. He cries out and falls back to the mattress. He barely makes a noise, but the pain is written all over his face. 

“Maybe don’t do that.”

He uses his good hand to flip Travie off. Travie grabs it lightly and tugs him into a sitting position. Bill grunts roughly and sways a little, but stays upright. 

“Tea?”

His eyes are closed, and he jerks with a shiver. “Yeah. Please.”

Travie makes tea and then brings it back. Bill holds it in his good hand, using the broken one to support the bottom. “You remember anything?”

Bill blows on the tea and takes a sip, alternating the two for a while before he answers. “Just a guy. Wanted a blowjob. Paid upfront. Normal.”

“Except how he beat the shit out of you.”

“I don’t know if that was him or his friend.” He takes several more sips of tea and then sets the mug on the ground. “Hurts.”

“Yeah, well, you took a beating. And got left in the alley for dead before I actually realized something was wrong and thought to look for you.” Travie blows out a hard breath. “There I was thinking you got lucky, and instead you were freezing to death.”

Bill reaches up and touches his raw cheek and brings his fingers away, looking at them like he expects to see blood. “So much for being a pretty face, huh?”

“Like you said, blue is a good color for you. But not the one I prefer for my roommates.” He takes Bill’s hand in his and rubs his palm. “Scared me, baby boy.”

William watches Travie’s fingers for a long time. “Why do you call me that?”

“Just suits you. Babe in the woods. Sexy baby. Pretty boy.” He shrugs. “Plus you look like you’re twelve.”

“I do not!”

“You do too. And you use it to your advantage. Creepy daddy fuckers.”

He laughs. “Okay, yeah. Some of them are.”

“You’re not allowed to die on me is the thing. I can’t afford this place by myself. Besides, you’re not horrible company.”

Bill looks at him through his bangs, ducking his head to hide his smile. “You’re not too bad either.”

“I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

**

Travie makes him stay home for two weeks and they talk about anything and everything. Eventually though, Bill’s crawling out of his skin. Before he lets him back out on the streets – not that he could really stop him, but it gives him peace of mind to think he can – Travie buys them each pay-as-you-go phones. It’s not going to do much if either of them gets jumped again, but it’s sort of a safety blanket. Plus Bill’s wrist is still fucked up, so Travie wants him to have a way to reach him immediately.

The first night he’s back on the streets, Travie’s almost unwilling to let him out of his sights, but a regular comes along and he can’t afford to turn down the money or the company. He goes off in the car and Bill flips him off when he looks back. Travie smiles. Stupid kid.

When he gets back a few hours later, Bill’s gone and his hand goes automatically to the phone. He forces himself to calm down and starts counting in his head. He goes through three tricks before a car drops Bill off looking none the worse for wear. If anything he looks better. Wherever he was, there was heat. 

He glares at Travie until he looks away, ducking his head to hide another smile. He’s pretty sure Bill would kick his ass if he thought he was amused. The night goes on, and somehow either word gets around that Bill’s back on the streets or his regulars have been trolling the streets every night waiting for him, because he’s busy all night long. Travie wonders if he’s made up for the two weeks he missed in one night.

They stay on the street until five when Bill follows two guys out of the alley. He looks exhausted as he crosses the street. “Home?” Travie asks.

“Please?”

He wraps his arm around Bill’s waist so that he can lean against him. The four blocks seem almost as long as the night Bill had been hurt, but only because he’s so tired. “Busy tonight.”

“Mmm. Out of practice. Sore.”

“Get you to bed.”

He nods and leans against Travie when he unlocks the door. They pass through the kitchen and Travie leans down as he guides Bill onto the bed. He goes to stand up, but Bill catches his arm and holds him over him. The moment stretches out until Bill slides his hand up Travie’s arm and presses his cool hand to the nape of Travie’s neck.

“Bill...”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tugging Travie down. He goes far too easily, mouthing fitting over Bill’s like it was made for it. He kneels beside the bed and rests his elbow on the mattress, sliding a hand to the back of Bill’s head. Travie pulls back from the kiss eventually, exhaling slowly. 

“This is a bad idea.”

“Mmm. Why?” Bill’s eyes are still closed and his lips are curved in a smile. “You afraid I’ll cheat on you?”

Travie pinches him. “There’s not enough room in the bed for both of us.”

“Liar.” He tugs Travie down for another kiss. “Plenty of room. We just have to stay close.”

He pulls back and looks at him seriously. “You’ve never shown any interest in me. What brought this on?”

“Not what. Who. You.” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze making Travie feel like an idiot. “I let you read my journal. I make you coffee. I buy cheese because you love it but refuse to buy it because you think it’s too expensive. What the hell do you think all of that was?”

It’s possible he feels like an idiot because he is one. “I never thought about it.”

“You should start.”

Travie smiles and nods, leaning down to kiss Bill again. “I most definitely should.”


End file.
